


Love Me Like You Do

by hourglassmermaid



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closeted Alec Lightwood, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Magical Accidents, Magnus Bane Is A Freewheeling Bisexual, POV Alternating, Pandemonium Club (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Pining, Pre-Canon, show typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hourglassmermaid/pseuds/hourglassmermaid
Summary: Alec’s deflect rune emits a golden sheen, like a lighthouse calling fishing boats home. Alec covers it with his hand, but light seeps through the cracks in his fingers, and then it dawns on him.Magnus releases another energy blast that narrowly misses Alec’s head. Magnus jerks his hand back and stares at Alec, his eyes wild and fearful — almost vulnerable. Alec hates that look. He hates that the High Warlock of Brooklyn is looking at him like a lifeline.“No,” Alec exhales. “Fuck no.”Magnus holds his hands up in surrender and takes a step towards Alec. “It’ll be okay. Let’s talk about this.”Alec backs away until he feels the hard press of the wall against his back. He fumbles around for the doorknob and swings the door open.“Wait, please!” Magnus calls.Alec slams the door on his way out.A soulmate au where you lose control of your magic from the moment you meet your soulmate until your first kiss.Or Magnus convinced himself that he's content without a soulmate, and Alec never imagined he would have a soulmate, let alone that his soulmate would be a downworlder.





	1. it started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this)

**Author's Note:**

> **[ON HIATUS]**
> 
> **[Prompt] 5. “Why are you helping me?”**
> 
> Hey gang! Because I'm trash and still have a bunch of prompts sitting in my [tumblr](http://hourglassmermaid.tumblr.com/) ask box, I decided to combine all of the SH ones into a multipchaptered soulmate au! (I'm still learning the meaning of ficlet apparently) My current plan is to update weekly on Sunday evenings EST, and the fic will either be 6 or 8 chapters! 
> 
> Thanks so much to my amazing betas, [Meyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meyer), [CryptidBane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impetus/pseuds/CryptidBane), and [Cave_Bob_Sponge_Man](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_Bob_Sponge_Man)! 
> 
> Fic title comes from [Love Me Like You Do](https://open.spotify.com/track/2l8w0zZVn4AZNuzrht7MRT?si=7IlrIFl9S1u5AiNGZFaERw) by Ellie Goulding and chapter title comes from [Mr. Brightside](https://open.spotify.com/track/7oK9VyNzrYvRFo7nQEYkWN?si=Qvg1M6T-TiakwP0o_dtHXw) by The Killers!

  
The alcohol stings as it slithers down Magnus’ throat. He sets his drink down on the counter, admiring the lipstick smudge staining his glass. He adjusts his sapphire ring and summons a spark of magic to fix a chip in his nail polish. 

He leans back against the firm leather booth and rests his head against the wall. He closes his eyes, counts to ten, and carves a smile on his face. 

His companion, Carla, nestles herself closer into his side. Her long hair brushes against Magnus’ shoulder, and he tucks a strand behind her ear. His fingers linger along the sensitive skin of her neck. She looks up at him with imploring eyes and starts running her hand up and down his thigh, drawing closer and closer to where he wants her with each caress.

Carla licks up the neck of her beer bottle, lapping dew drops into her mouth. She wraps her crimson lips around the rim, and Magnus watches the way her throat bobs as she takes a swig of her drink, heat pooling in between his thighs. She sets the bottle down next to Magnus’ glass of whiskey. Her kiss mark is far more vibrant than Magnus’. 

“Shall we?” Magnus murmurs. 

The velvet curtain offering them a semblance of privacy is drawn open, and one of his bouncers’ heads pops in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a situation, sir.” 

“Can’t _you_ deal with it?” Magnus groans. “I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Carla’s jaw.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I wouldn’t bother you unless it was important.” 

“My apologies, Carla.” Magnus sighs and removes her hand from his leg. “Perhaps another time.” 

She nods, and for a brief flicker, her smile looks almost disappointed, sad even, but then she schools her features into their usual nonchalance, and Magnus wonders if he imagined it. 

“You know where to find me,” she says as she smoothes out the wrinkles in her bodycon dress. Magnus’ bouncer, Leon, holds the curtain open for her. She pauses and turns to Magnus. “Good luck.” She ducks her head and disappears into the amalgam of sweaty bodies and rainbow lights.

As frustrated as he is to have his night interrupted, Magnus certainly appreciates watching Carla’s spectacular assets walk away. 

Magnus follows Leon out of the VIP area. They weave their way around the intoxicated masses, cozying up to undulating bodies and slipping past eager hands. The DJ plays an EDM song, and Magnus feels the bass reverberate up his spine as he declines one of his past partner’s offer for a dance. 

“What am I about to walk into, Leon?” Magnus asks. 

Leon scratches his head and clears a path for Magnus. “A shadowhunter attacked one of your regulars.”

Magnus gapes at him, halting in his movements and almost colliding with a patron. While that specific brand of gross aggression doesn’t surprise him, shadowhunters don’t usually frequent Magnus’ club — not unless they’re seeking out some specific entertainment. Magnus knows more than most how unequal the Accords are, but he’s fairly certain the Clave doesn’t condone blatantly badgering downworlders. 

They make their way towards the staff elevator, and Leon gestures Magnus inside. He punches the button for the third floor and steers them towards the bar when they emerge. A crowd has gathered around the scene. No one is dancing, grinding, or drinking, just staring, pointing, and whispering. 

Magnus understands. They’re always on the receiving end of shadowhunter brutality. Not many opportunities to watch a shadowhunter on his knees. 

Magnus shoulders his way through the ring of people, shoving bodies out of the way to get a closer look. The overhead lights shine against the shadowhunter’s rumpled, golden hair. His black leather jacket ripped at the shoulder, his seraph blade spilled out on the floor, and his knuckles bloody as he lands a punch on a seelie man’s cheek. 

The seelie man retaliates with a swift kick to the shadowhunter’s groin, and the shadowhunter drops to the ground like a sack of concrete. 

“Fuck!” the shadowhunter cries, clutching at his cracked family jewels. Maybe this one won’t be able to procreate. Magnus isn’t so sure that’s a bad thing. 

A seelie woman with vine tattoos rushes over to hold the seelie man back from landing a kick to the shadowhunter’s ribs. “Axel, stop it! You’re hurting him!” 

“I don’t even know you, man,” the shadowhunter groans from the floor. 

“Nephilim scum,” Axel spits as if he were spewing acid. He shakes the woman off and pounces on the crumpled shadowhunter. “How dare you,” Axel sneers in between punches to his jaw. The shadowhunter tries to protect his face, but his movements are erratic, overshooting their intended trajectory and leaving him defenseless. 

“Kaelie,” the shadowhunter whines. 

Axel decks him in his eye socket. “You don’t deserve to say her name.”

“He didn’t know!” Kaelie pleads as she tries to fling herself towards them but is yanked back by Leon. 

“Know wha—” the shadowhunter starts to ask, but Magnus has had enough of this farce.

He lashes out with a burst of fiery magic, freezing them in a tableau. The shadowhunter crossing his forearms to block Axel’s assault, Axel hovering over him and winding up for another punch, and Kaelie clawing towards them. It might as well be the downworld’s _Consequences of War_.

“That’s enough. All of you.” Magnus chastises. 

Leon positions himself behind Axel, and Magnus snaps Axel and Kaelie out of their stasis. “Escort them out of here,” he instructs. Leon pulls Axel to a standing position by the back of his shirt and ushers him and Kaelie out of the club. 

Once they’re out of view, Magnus releases his hold on the shadowhunter. “Come with me, Nephilim.” 

He looks startled, probably still reeling from having his entire body paralyzed, but after a confused beat, he scrambles off the floor and follows Magnus to the staff elevator. Bodies part for them as if Magnus was Moses and his drunken patrons were the Red Sea. It’s a charming metaphor, but Magnus is too fed up to dwell on it. 

Magnus leans his head against the cool metal of the elevator walls as they travel down to the basement. The shadowhunter stands as far away from Magnus as he can in the compact space. Magnus is fine with that. He smells like a liquor store, and Magnus doesn’t need the odor exacerbating the headache gnawing away at his skull. 

“Thanks for, uh,” the shadowhunter stammers, “breaking it up.” 

Magnus rolls his eyes. “I don’t tolerate fighting in my club.” 

“Right.” 

“What’s your name, shadowhunter?” Magnus asks as the elevator pings for their floor. 

“Jace Wayland.”

“Magnus Bane.” 

“I know,” Jace says, and when Magnus gives him a questioning look, he clarifies, “You have a reputation.” 

That doesn’t surprise Magnus in the slightest. 

He unlocks the door with the swish of his fingers and motions for Jace to take a seat on the leather couch. Magnus steps inside and closes the door behind them. 

“You look awful,” he says as he sits down behind his desk. He rifles through his drawers looking for his address book. “Can’t you activate an _iratze_ or something so you don’t look so…” He waves his hand vaguely before ducking under his desk. 

“I broke my stele during the fight.”

Magnus bangs his head on the underside of the desk. His hand flies to the back of his head to nurse the ache. He gets up and snaps his fingers. An ice pack appears in Jace’s lap, and the way the sudden conjuring makes him jump amuses Magnus. 

“Thanks,” Jace says, “but why are you helping me?” He presses the ice pack to the violet bruise blossoming on his face. 

“It’s not for your benefit,” Magnus says. “I’m not letting a drunk, belligerent shadowhunter loose in New York.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Jace protests. 

Magnus pauses his searching to level Jace with a look that says ‘are you really going to try and pull that after everything I just dealt with.’ Either he gets the message or he’s too out of it to care, but he still has the decency to look regretful. 

“What are you looking for?” Jace asks.

“The phone number for your handlers.” Magnus opens his stationery drawer and picks through his half filled notebooks and boxes of assorted thumbtacks.

Jace folds his arms and leans back against the couch. “I don’t have handlers.”

“You should.” 

Jace swings his body forward and almost topples over. He manages to catch himself on the coffee table. “Look, it wasn’t my fault. He jumped me.” 

“Yes, you’re such a victim,” Magnus brushes him off and scans the room for his messenger bag. He spots it hanging on the coat tree across the room. “Just a poor, defenseless shadowhunter getting attacked by an evil seelie.” 

Jace slams his ice pack down on the table like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Magnus refuses to indulge him and crosses the room without so much as a glance in Jace’s direction. 

Magnus hears him sigh, collecting himself after the outburst. “I’m off duty tonight.”

“Then why is there a seraph blade lying on my dance floor?” Magnus counters as he unzips his bag. 

“I never leave the Institute unarmed.”

 _Shadowhunters_. It’s never just a night out drinking and dancing for them — never any fun. Too intense. Too serious. There’s always this lingering sense of, ‘but what if I need to save the world?’ What, even while we’re fucking? It’s nauseating and one of the many reasons why Magnus doesn’t waste his time with them. 

When Magnus doesn’t respond, Jace takes the opportunity to continue. “Seriously. Kaelie and I were just supposed to go out and hookup after. In and out.” 

Magnus grimaces at the crassness of his summary, but then it clicks and the whole evening makes sense. “A shadowhunter paramour? That’s certainly new.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Magnus digs through his bag, tossing his wallet and keys on the floor as he searches. He reaches into one of the side pockets, and his fingers graze the worn leather spine of his missing address book. “Do you honestly think this was some random attack? Clearly, he and Kaelie are together.” He draws out the book and leafs through the pages until he finds the number he’s been searching for. “And you’re the other man.” Magnus hurries back over to his desk. 

“You’re… You’re probably right,” Jace admits, and his voice sounds hurt. Magnus almost feels sorry for him — _almost_. But this dalliance couldn’t have meant much to him. A shadowhunter could never fall in love with a downworlder. 

Magnus dials the number into his office phone. Someone answers on the third ring. “Hello,” a young, gruff voice says. Now that doesn’t sound like Marian Whitelaw. Or was it Maryse Lightwood now? Magnus can’t be bothered to keep track. 

“Is this the New York Institute?” Magnus asks, twirling his finger in the phone cord. “I think I have something that belongs to you.”


	2. anywhere but here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alec’s body turns to stone as if he was a statue. He’d love to be a statue right now. No responsibilities. No duties. He could just fade into the background as a fixture and never have to have this conversation, because he can’t bear to hear Izzy’s next few words spoken out loud. Not now. Not ever._
> 
> * * *
> 
> Where Alec's pissed at Jace (and himself), Izzy's a supportive sister, and Magnus and Alec first meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, gang! Hope you've had a good week, it's time for some angst~~
> 
> Thanks as always to my amazing betas!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://hourglassmermaid.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/izzylightbane) if y'all wanna say hi!

Alec wants to kill Jace. The first time Alec ever wanted to kill Jace was when he was twelve, and Jace smashed their mother’s favorite antique pot messing around with a bo staff. Alec took the brunt of the blame to protect Jace. Alec definitely wants to kill Jace more now than he did then. 

“He’s never this reckless,” Alec says. “I’m worried about him.” 

Izzy stares at her reflection in her compact mirror and frowns. She fishes around in her bag and then proceeds to blot at her lipstick. Alec doesn’t understand why she’s fussing so much. She looks just as beautiful as she always does. 

“Jace is an idiot,” Izzy says as she tosses everything in her bag. 

“That’s an understatement,” Alec grumbles. 

Jace is lucky that Alec picked up the phone and not their parents. He’d be on ichor duty for a week — at minimum — if their parents found out what he was up to, but they’re away in Idris on business and Alec is the acting Head of the Institute. So Jace will get away with it. Again. Jace _always_ gets away with it. Maybe Alec should put him on ichor duty just to teach him a lesson. 

He knows the real reason he’s so afraid of their parents finding out isn’t because he’s afraid for Jace, but because he knows they’ll blame Alec.

> _Be responsible, Alec._  
>  _You’re in charge, Alec._  
>  _We’re counting on you, Alec._  
> 

He’s supposed to reign his siblings in when they’re out of control, and if he can’t even do that, then how will they ever trust him to takeover someday?

“It’s gonna be okay, big brother.” Izzy places her hand on Alec’s back, and he shakes her off. “You said Magnus told you no one was seriously hurt.” 

“Yeah, but it was in public,” Alec says. “What if someone got it on video? We could be accused of breaking the Accords by starting—”

Izzy shushes him. “Nobody’s going to accuse us of breaking the Accords. It was a bar fight. Nothing more. Even _mundanes_ get into bar fights.” 

Her words don’t comfort him. He hikes his bow and quiver higher up his shoulder and trudges on towards the club. He hears the _click-clack_ of Izzy’s stilettos behind him as she tries to catch up.

He doesn’t like Kaelie, never has. He was weary when Jace said he was going out with her tonight, and this turn of events only proves that he was right to worry. She brings out the worst in Jace. Alec doesn’t like who Jace is when he’s with her. He doesn’t like who Jace is when Alec’s not there. 

“Kaelie’s a bad influence on Jace,” Alec states. 

Izzy saddles up beside him. “And why do you think that?” She asks him in that tone of voice she uses when she’s angling for something, trying to point something out, but Alec’s not in the mood to reach. He’d rather she just tell him what she’s thinking rather than play some pointless game of tug-o-war with her. 

“You know why,” he brushes her off. 

“Is it because of your feelings—” 

Alec’s body turns to stone as if he was a statue. He’d love to be a statue right now. No responsibilities. No duties. He could just fade into the background as a fixture and never have to have this conversation, because he can’t bear to hear Izzy’s next few words spoken out loud. Not now. Not ever. 

“Don’t go there,” he warns.

He knows she knows. He hates that she knows, because it means he wasn’t careful enough. He needs to be better in the future, so nobody else finds out. He can deal with Izzy knowing, because she’d never betray him. His sister understands what would happen to him if anyone else found out. 

“You know, not many shadowhunters go to Pandemonium.” She brushes some dust off his leather jacket. “We could stay for awhile. You could…” She looks up at him, her gaze earnest, warm. “You could meet someone. You’d be safe there.” 

“No. Absolutely not. We’re picking up Jace and heading back to the Institute. We’ve already caused enough trouble.” 

Her face falls, eyes drooping and lips twisting down into a frown. Alec’s chest tightens. He hates that he disappointed her, and he hates that whisper of pity he sees cracking her countenance. His sister doesn’t need to worry about him; he’s fine. 

But there’s something about her suggestion that intrigues him. How would it feel if he let loose, just for one night? If he ditched his gear and stele, unbuttoned his shirt, and mussed up his hair. To disappear in the crowd. To pretend that he was someone else. Someone who didn’t have to uphold his family name. Someone who didn’t carry Atlas’ weight on his shoulders. Someone who wasn’t afraid of being…

How would he feel in the club? Alec doesn’t like crowds — too many people all at once — but it might feel nice to have someone choose him, to dance with him, to want him. Nobody’s ever wanted him before. He wants to know what that feels like. 

Maybe he could try the casual hook up thing, just to know what it’s like. He’d lock eyes with someone in the crowd, invite them over, and let them dance up against his body. Maybe they’d offer to take Alec home, and he’d accept. But then they’d get back to their place, and Alec wouldn’t know what to do, and he would panic, and it would be awful and terrible and embarrassing and no. _Stick to the mission_. It’s easier that way. 

They arrive at the front entrance of Pandemonium. A line of people dressed in low cut tops and short skirts spans the entire block. A disinterested bouncer guards the rope as another checks IDs and collects covers. Izzy and Alec skip ahead to the front of the line, because they’re not here for the party.

The bouncer guarding the rope crosses his arms when they approach. He notices Alec’s deflect rune and eases his defensive stance, at least a little. “Here to collect your friend?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Alec holds his hands behind his back in parade rest and uses a careful, polite tone when addressing the bouncer. He needs to be as diplomatic as possible if there’s any hope of salvaging this fuckup. 

The bouncer whispers something to the man checking IDs, and he shifts so he’s blocking the door. 

“Come with me,” the bouncer says, not waiting for their response before heading inside. Izzy shrugs, and they follow him into the heart of Pandemonium. 

Alec’s immediately overwhelmed. EDM is blasting so loud that he can’t hear anything else, with the bass so strong that he feels it pulsing in his chest. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. The club is plunged in darkness aside from flashing strobe lights that rotate between all the colors of the rainbow, giving him whiplash as he tries to memorize the patterns.

Izzy tugs at his shoulder, motioning for him to follow her through the crowd. He squeezes around a pack of werewolves, mumbles out a slew of _Excuse me’s_ to a group of warlocks, and bobs and weaves his way around a vampire clan. One of them propositions him for a bite, and Alec declines. A blush blooms across his cheeks, amusing the vampires. 

The bouncer leads them down the stairs and into the basement. Alec can still hear the shuffling of dancing feet pounding above them and the echoes of the music pouring out of the speakers, but it’s much quieter down here. He likes it better down here. He can hear himself think. 

“Wait out here,” the bouncer instructs before knocking on a door and disappearing inside. 

“So,” Izzy says, kicking at the ground. “What did you think?” 

“Too loud. Too many people. A vampire asked me for a bite.” 

Izzy smiles, her cherry red lips complementing her dark features. “He was cute.” 

The door opens, and the bouncer emerges behind Jace, shoving him at Izzy and Alec. Jace stumbles forward and has to rest his hands on his knees to steady himself. 

“Here’s your ward. See yourselves out,” the bouncer says as he brushes past them, purposefully bumping Alec’s shoulder before hustling up the stairs. Alec glares at his back until he fades from view. 

Jace straightens out, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his arms as he extends to his full height. Alec scans over his body for injuries. A black eye and a bruised collarbone. There are probably more contusions littering his body, but Jace is okay. So Alec can be furious. 

Wordlessly, he pushes Jace against the wall. Jace starts to protest when Alec yanks the hem of his shirt up, but he stops fussing when he sees Alec draw his stele out of his back pocket. Alec traces over Jace’s _iratze_ rune, and Jace’s shoulders relax as the pain starts to dissipate. 

Alec grips his stele so hard he thinks it’s going to snap. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he fumes. Jace opens his mouth to answer, but Alec barrels on. “You weren’t. No, you were too fucking focused on getting laid to care about anything else.”

“Alec.” There’s a warning edge to Izzy’s voice, but Alec ignores her.

“That’s not fair,” Jace says, and a crimson tidal wave washes over Alec’s vision. 

“ _Not fair_ ,” Alec echoes. He steps forward, so Jace is forced to look at him. “You wanna know what’s not fair? Me getting a call in the middle of the night to come pick you up — that you waited until I was in charge to pull this shit. Do you have any idea what position this puts me in? With mom and dad? With the Clave?” 

Alec turns away from him and runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up as he crosses to the other side of the hallway. He rests his forehead against the cool wall. 

Alec pivots, so he’s facing Jace again. “And you’re lucky Magnus Bane didn’t turn you into a toad or something for causing a scene.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, counts to ten, and exhales. “I’m gonna go thank him for not turning you into a toad or something. Try not to get into any more trouble while I’m gone.” 

He knocks on the office door and presses his ear to the wood, waiting for a response. A voice as smooth as the feel of silk against bare skin calls out, “It’s open!” 

Alec steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “Mr. Bane, I just wanted to thank you for not reporting this incident to the Clave.” 

Alec hears the sound of papers shuffling. “Well, he harmed himself more than anyone else and didn’t cause any damages, but if anything like this happens again, I won’t be so gracious in the future.” 

“Yes, of course.” Alec freezes as he locks eyes with Magnus. Magnus Bane is the most beautiful man Alec has ever laid eyes on. 

The stack of papers slips from Magnus’ grasp when he meets Alec’s gaze. His lips are parted slightly, his gloss glinting under the fluorescent office lights. Magnus runs ring clad fingers through his blue streaked hair. Simply put, Magnus is gorgeous, more gorgeous than any man Alec has ever seen before, has ever _allowed_ himself to see before. 

Magnus’ eyes are the same deep mahogany color as his desk — that same rich brown with a hint of warmth that pulls Alec in and puts him at ease. But as soon as Alec starts to lose himself in Magnus’ eyes, they flicker from mahogany to gold, transforming from the eyes of a man to those of a cat, and Alec’s suddenly reminded that Magnus is a warlock. 

Magnus winces and covers his eyes with his hands. “I’m so sorry. I don’t—” Blue sparks fire erratically from Magnus’ fingertips. One burst of magic knocks a painting off the wall, another shatters a vase, and another almost hits Alec in the chest, but he ducks down to dodge the blast. 

Alec doesn’t understand how a centuries old warlock, the most powerful warlock in New York no less, can lose control of his magic like this, but Alec doesn’t have much time to dwell on it. A tingling at his forearm snaps him out of his thoughts. He rolls his sleeve up to his elbow; his angelic power rune burns as though he just painted his stele over the swirling script. 

He feels the same tingling sensation pooling at his abdomen and lifts the hem of his shirt to see his agility rune glowing just like his angelic power rune, but he hasn’t activated any runes all day, aside from Jace’s _iratze_. 

“What the hell,” he murmurs under his breath. 

The deflect rune tattooing his neck emits a golden sheen, like a lighthouse calling fishing boats home to safety. Alec covers it with his hand, but light seeps through the cracks in his fingers, and then it dawns on him. Alec’s eyes widen, and he stumbles backwards, nearly tripping over Magnus’ ornate rug. 

Magnus releases another energy blast that narrowly misses Alec’s head; instead it collides with the wall behind him, repainting the room a sickening _Pepto Bismol_ pink color. Magnus jerks his hand back and stares at Alec, his eyes wild and fearful. Alec hates that look. He hates that the High Warlock of Brooklyn is looking at him like a lifeline. 

“No,” Alec exhales. “No. Fuck no.” 

Magnus holds his hands up in surrender and takes a step towards Alec. “It’ll be okay. Let’s talk about this.” Orange lightning is ripped from Magnus’ fingers. It ricochets around the room until it escapes out an open window. 

Alec backs away until he feels the hard press of the wall against his back. He fumbles around until he finds the doorknob and swings the door open. 

“Wait, please!” Magnus calls. 

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” Alec slams the door on his way out.

“Alec, is everything okay?” Izzy’s voice sounds worried. 

“What happened in there?” Jace asks.

Alec rushes past them and hurries up the stairs, his boots stomping against the linoleum. He hears his siblings call after him, but he ignores them, just focusing on getting the fuck out of there. 

His eardrums pound as he makes his way through the overcrowded dance floor. He’s flooded with thunderous EDM and a mosaic of neon lights and not enough oxygen. The mass of bodies has multiplied, and Alec needs to get as far away from them as possible. Now. 

He crashes into that same vampire from earlier. “Having seconds thoughts on that bite?” He runs a hand down Alec’s back, sending prickling goosebumps along his skin. Alec pushes past him.

A seelie woman with long, silver-blond hair drapes herself over Alec, her breath ghosting on his neck, smelling of whiskey and deceit. “What’s a big, strong shadowhunter doing here with us filthy downworlders?” She bares her teeth and throws her head back, letting out a piercing cackle before she stumbles into the sea of bodies. 

Alec’s heart hammers in his chest, beating faster than a fighter pilot during an aerial chase. His palms are sweaty, and he wipes them off on his jeans. No matter how hard Alec tries, he can’t remember how to breathe. 

He shoulders his way through the crowd, avoiding each intoxicated body, each lingering glance. He needs space, air, freedom. He can’t be here. He needs to get as far away as possible. He can’t risk… He can’t risk seeing Magnus again. 

None of this is real. It can’t be. Golden light pours through the stitches in his t shirt. _Fuck_. His _parabatai_ rune. Maybe this is real. Maybe his nightmare of an existence is spiraling more than he thought. Maybe the Angel is punishing him for being gay, because Alec can’t think of any other reason why his soulmate would be a downworlder.

He’ll figure it out. He’ll fix it. He has to. 

Alec’s feet lead him towards a glowing red exit sign, and he body slams the door open. The crisp night air slams into his face and chills him to his core. He activates his glamour rune and disappears to anywhere but here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> Next time: Magnus deals with the fall out & Catarina's a great friend


	3. now i accidentally need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He had watched love fizzle and fade, seen how the loss of her mortal fated tore Catarina apart, and accepted that closing off his heart was the safest option. Although, he started to wonder why he didn’t have a fated — not because he was disappointed, no, he knew he was better off alone. But Magnus was okay. He was content. And then one shadowhunter with soulful eyes and a body chiseled by Raziel himself had to come traipsing into his office and ruin everything._
> 
> * * *
> 
> Where Magnus wants his magic back, a client offers some insight, and Catarina is always there for Magnus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Just as a heads up, there will probably be a delay in next week's chapter! I've reached the end of my back log, so I need to play catch up :^)
> 
> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://hourglassmermaid.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/izzylightbane)!
> 
> Chapter title comes from [Oops]() by Little Mix!
> 
> Enjoy~~

Magnus’ whole body aches. Sunlight streams in through a crack in his curtains, and Magnus has to cover his eyes with his forearm to keep the damn glare from blinding him. He rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in his pillow, muffling a groan. 

He sits up, the sheets slipping down his waist, and snaps his fingers to cure his headache, but nothing happens. His head still pounds like the godforsaken maintenance workers that wake him up at 7 in the morning. Magnus tries again and faint blue smoke sparks in the air but fizzles out. 

_Dammit_. He flops onto his back, last night’s club hair fanning out around him. If his magic’s still not cooperating then he’ll have to nurse this hangover the mundane way, because apparently last night _wasn’t_ some substance induced hallucination, but was in fact real.

That means last night Magnus met his fated. And his fated ran from him. His fated ran from him before they kissed.

Magnus throws the covers off and stumbles his way out of bed. He needs a Bloody Mary if he’s going to survive today.

He plucks a bottle of _Grey Goose_ off his drink cart and squints at his refrigerator across the room before shrugging and taking a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. It sends a shiver throughout his whole body. _Good morning, Brooklyn._

Magnus briefly falls asleep in the shower. He snaps back into consciousness when the water heats to scalding and sprays into his face. He dresses in a loose fitting pair of linen pants and a floral patterned button down. 

He goes minimal on his hair and makeup, because he can’t rely on his magic for grooming. He’d rather not singe off on eyebrow when he lines his eyes with the perfect cat eye. Not that he needs much help there. He pops in a pair of colored contacts, blinking them into place. He’s really not in the mood to hear people screaming in terror over his warlock mark. 

As a reward for getting out of bed and making himself presentable, Magnus eats a croissant and takes another nap. He wakes up a few hours later, passed out on his sofa with drool hanging out of his mouth. He blinks a few times, scrubs at his face, and stretches before sitting up on the couch.

He checks the time on his phone and curses. He has a client arriving any minute. He scrambles around the loft, gathering his notes from their phone consultation — something about healing a nasty case of demon warts. Or maybe it was gout? Even on a good day, Magnus is no physician, but hopefully he can make do in his current state.

His client arrives early, which would normally impress Magnus, because he respects those who respect him and just as importantly, respect his time. But today he loathes the courtesy and wishes party rules applied: always show up no less than 15 minutes late unless you want to help your host setup. 

His client pounds on the door, shaking the frame. Magnus hurries to answer it before they rip the door off its hinges. He risks a glance in the mirror and frowns. He looks like crap, but he’s not getting paid to look beautiful. At least not now. 

Magnus swings the door open, catching his client mid-knock. He’s a tall, surly looking man. He wears a distressed, green flannel shirt tucked into a pair of ripped jeans and a pair of worn work boots. A hint of stubble dots his cheeks and short, curly brown hair frames his face. 

Magnus glances down to skim the notes in his hands. “Hello, uh,” He squints. “Anders Bjork. I’m Magnus Bane.” Magnus holds his hand out, and he takes it. 

“It’s Andre, actually,” Andre says. “Isn’t ‘Anders Bjork’ a hockey player?”

Magnus stares at him, mouth hanging open slightly. “I have no idea. But my apologies, Andre. Please do come in.” He ushers Andre inside. 

Andre takes a seat on the couch. Magnus hovers by his drink cart. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he calls. “Coffee? Tea? Screwdriver?”

“I’ll just have a water, thanks. I don’t drink before 5.” 

“Of course.” But Magnus doesn’t understand why. Day drinking is an art, and Magnus might as well call himself Michelangelo. He’s certainly _answered_ Michelangelo’s call before.

Magnus sits across from Andre and sets his fresh Irish coffee on the table. He summons all of the magic he can find and pushes it towards his fingertips. He waves his wrist and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that a simple glass of ice water appears in front of them. Magnus’ fingers spark, and he and Andre exchange a look. 

“My apologies, but I just thought _Mountain Dew_ was more to your liking.” Magnus says with a confident edge to his voice that he doesn’t actually feel. 

Andre picks up the slime green bottle, turns it over in his hands, and uncaps it before taking a sip and shuddering. He sets the bottle down and opens his mouth to speak, but Magnus interjects before he gets the chance. 

“So, what can I do for you today, Andre? I know we spoke over the phone, but I’d like to hear the details in person before we begin.”

“Sure,” he says. “So, I was fucking around in Hunter’s Moon the other day, and uh, long story short, I think a warlock cursed me.”

Magnus snorts. “How so?”

“Well,” Andre bites at his lower lip. “Ever since, everytime me and my wife get, er, _intimate_ I can’t…” He trails off and makes a poignant hand gesture with his finger. 

“Are you sure it was a warlock who did this? It’s perfectly normal for aging men to have trouble—” 

“I’m only 32,” Andre snaps. “And the guy straight up said, ‘I’m cursing you.’”

“Oh, why didn’t you just say that?” Magnus asks, and Andre glares daggers at him. “Sex magic is rather complicated, but I can try.”

“I thought you were the best warlock in the city. Aren’t you the High Warlock?” 

“I am,” Magnus confirms, “but I’m feeling a tad… under the weather. And my magic isn’t cooperating how I’d like.”

“Are you gonna burn my dick off if we try this?” Andre asks, abject horror coloring his features. 

“Probably not.”

“‘Probably?’” Andre echoes, scrambling off the couch and backing away from Magnus. 

Magnus rolls his eyes. “I’m joking. I assure you your manhood will be fine.” 

Magnus stands up to try and placate Andre and feels a burst of energy surging through his body. He stumbles backwards at the sensation and fires a bolt of amber lightning. Andre dives to the floor, narrowly missing the blast as it collides with the ceiling. 

Magnus sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve always wanted a skylight.” He steps towards Andre and offers him a hand, helping him to his feet. “Are you alright?” 

Andre dusts himself off. “Yeah, I’m fine, but what the hell was that for? I didn’t mean to insult your powers or whatever, man. Sorry.”

“It’s not you.”

Magnus deliberates. He’s spent the last several centuries cultivating an air of mystery around himself and doesn’t like people knowing his personal business, but the gossip’s been quiet in the downworld lately and people would love to sink their fangs into a rumor about the High Warlock of Brooklyn. If Andre hasn’t heard anything yet, he’ll definitely hear something the next time he decides to “fuck around” in Hunter’s Moon.

Magnus downs half of his coffee in one swallow before he says, “I met my fated last night.”

The words feel foreign on his tongue, like someone else is saying them. He’s been alive for centuries and never shied away from earth’s wicked pleasures. Magnus has loved, lost, and fucked his way across the globe but never with his fated. 

Mortals have it so easy. They stumble through two or three meaningless decades before they meet the one they’re destined for. Magnus has waited the length of ten, lonely mortal lifetimes to meet his someone only for him to flee without even giving his name.

Magnus used to dream of the day he’d finally meet his fated. Would they bump into each other at the Spiral Labyrinth? Be each other’s kiss at the Bone Chandelier’s New Year’s Eve party? Maybe they’d come to Magnus for a potion or a spell. But after his third or fourth century, Magnus stopped hoping and learned to accept that not everyone has that happily ever after.

He had watched love fizzle and fade, seen how the loss of her mortal fated tore Catarina apart, and accepted that closing off his heart was the safest option. Although he started to wonder why he didn’t have a fated — not because he was disappointed, no, he knew he was better off alone. Maybe they passed before he had the chance to meet them? Or perhaps Asmodeus cursed him; Magnus wouldn’t put it past dear old dad. 

Most likely, demons just didn’t have soulmates. 

Magnus was okay. He was content. And then one shadowhunter with soulful eyes and a body chiseled by Raziel himself had to come traipsing into his office and ruin everything. 

“Shit, man, that sucks,” Andre says. “When I met Marissa, I remember we just kinda looked at each other and then immediately transformed.” He takes a tentative gulp of the _Mountain Dew_ , seeming to enjoy it more this time. “I hadn’t lost control like that since I was about 17. So as soon as we turned back, we kissed, butt ass naked, and well…” He shows Magnus the tungsten wedding ring on his finger. “The rest is history.” 

“Are you happy?” Magnus asks, and he’s not sure why but he’s suddenly filled with the burning need to know the answer. 

“No doubt,” Andre answers without hesitation. “She makes me better. And I uh, I can’t imagine my life without her.”

A coil of liquid magic slithers down Magnus’ leg and fires out of his _Louboutin_ loafers, replacing his hardwood flooring with bowling alley carpet. Magnus sighs and rifles through his drawers for a pen and a piece of paper. 

He scrawls out Catarina’s name and address and hands it to Andre. “This is the name of the best healer in New York.” Andre reads over the note, and Magnus continues. “Go to her, but don’t you dare leave without paying her — no matter what she says.”

Catarina is the closest thing this cruel world has to a saint. A saint who’s too good and too pure to ask for compensation for services rendered. Just happy to help in any way she can, but altruism doesn’t pay the light bill. 

Andre raises an eyebrow as he stuffs the note in his pocket. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to hit her up.” Magnus walks him to the door. “Oh, and I hope it works out with you and your fated.”

Though he won’t admit it, a part of Magnus does too.

* * *

Magnus lays sprawled out on his living room floor. Books are flipped open to dogeared pages, papers are scattered about, and Magnus has compiled a stack of handwritten notes about an inch thick. He scrolls through the Clave’s database searching for his mystery man, but apparently “tall, dark, and handsome” aren’t adequate keyword searches for the directory.

He tried to be good and quiet his curiosity — his fated clearly didn’t want to be found; he didn’t even give his name, after all — but after his fifth accidental home renovation, Magnus had enough. He wanted his control back, if nothing else. 

By this point, he’s confirmed that the Lightwoods are in charge of the New York Institute, so all of the Whitelaws are out, but his fated definitely isn’t Robert Lightwood. That man started balding at 16, and either Magnus’ fated has a fantastic hair transplant doctor or he’s just been blessed with a full head of hair. He can’t be Hodge Starkweather either as he’s apparently on permanent Institute house arrest.

It’s a relief to know that Magnus isn’t soul bonded to any former Circle members, but he still can’t pinpoint exactly who his fated his. Magnus rereads his short list.

> Milo Keytower
> 
> Daniel Underhill
> 
> Alexander Lightwood
> 
> Raj Ablack

_Raj Ablack_. There’s something about that name that sticks out to Magnus. Magnus pulls up his file in the database and skims through it. Mid-twenties. Assigned to the New York Institute. Black hair. Dark eyes. _Damn_ , this could be him. If only there was a picture, then he’d know for sure. 

He sighs and lets the papers fall from his grasp. They spill out and scatter over his ornate area rug. This is hopeless. He might as well head over to the Institute and smooch every eligible, young bachelor until his magic feels like his own again like some sort of twisted, modern _Cinderella_ story. It would be a hell of a lot faster than this bureaucracy and likely not that difficult — just seek out the man glowing like a Christmas tree. 

His phone vibrates, and he slides it out of his pocket. Catarina’s contact photo fills his screen. She’s laughing as she splashes water at Magnus for taking her picture, her flowing maxi skirt hiked up to her knees. It was taken during their trip to Fiji last November. It it doesn’t work out with his fated, Magnus can always hide away in Fiji for a few weeks. 

He swipes across the screen to accept her video call.

“Any particular reason you sent an impotent werewolf my way?” she asks, eyebrows raised and forehead creased. 

“He needed a healer, so I sent him to the best one in New York.” Flattery will get you everywhere… 

“But even _you_ can manage an unbinding spell.” …Just not with Catarina. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Magnus climbs off the floor and crosses the room to his drink cart, empty glass in one hand and Catarina’s expectant face in the other. Magnus pours two fingers of whiskey and downs it in one gulp. “I met my fated last night.”

“That’s wonderful—” She hesitates, studies his face, and changes her approach. “How did it go?” she asks, a tentative edge coloring her voice.

Magnus laughs, a dry, bitter laugh that sounds almost pitiful to his own ears. Magnus hates it. He can’t let this affect him so much. “He took one look at me and ran.”

“Oh, Magnus, I’m so sorry,” she soothes. “You could try tindering him?” 

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” he says. “And besides, I doubt the Angel’s soldiers have time for casual dalliances.”

Catarina drops her phone. Magnus hears it fall to the floor with an audible _thud_ and suddenly he’s staring at her ceiling. He hears shuffling as she scrambles to pick it up. “He’s a shadowhunter?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Are you positive?”

“Do you remember when Raphael dragged us to the movies to see _Twilight_? He kept blathering on about proper representation in the media and what not,” Magnus asks. 

“Yeah, and it was a horrible experience for all of us,” Cat replies.

“Can’t argue with that,” Magnus agrees. “But it was just like that scene in the meadow. Except with runes.” 

“Wait, so he sparkled?” 

“Glittering gold like the sunrise over the ocean.” 

“Damn.” Catarina cocks her head to the side and assesses him. “But how can you be so sure he’s _it_ for you? You seem fine to me.” 

Magnus pinches the skin below his eye and gently pokes his finger into the socket. For a brief moment Catarina looks like she’s going to ask what the hell he’s doing, but then she seems to understand as Magnus shows her the little plastic lens resting on the tip of his finger. “Contacts. I can’t control my glamour.” 

His eyes drift to his own reflection in the bottom corner of his phone screen. The face staring back unsettles him. He looks so jarring with one honey brown iris and one demonic yellow cat eye. He pops the contact back in and blinks a few times, shifting it back into place. 

“I had to take the subway home from Pandemonium last night.” Magnus wrinkles his nose at the memory. “I accidentally sat on a wad of gum and ruined my favorite _Gucci_ pants.” 

“The ones with the embroidered dragon?” 

Magnus nods. Those pants cost him twelve hundred dollars. 

“Good riddance.”

Magnus scowls.

“They were awful.”

“They were couture,” Magnus counters.

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t awful.” Catarina picks up an orange from her fruit bowl and starts to peel it. “So, any leads on your mystery man?”

Magnus recounts for her everything that transpired last night. From the brawl to the scorned seelies to the tender way his fated looked at him before they both lost control. How he still fled even after Magnus pleaded with him to stay.

Catarina listens throughout his story, nods in the appropriate places, and hums methodically at key points. She’s quiet for awhile as she digests everything. 

“It’s probably the oldest Lightwood boy,” Cat says. “He just hired me to heal one of their soldiers. Alan or Alex or—”

“Alexander?” Magnus asks.

“That’s it!” she agrees, snapping her fingers. “I think he’s in charge while Robert and Maryse are in Idris.” 

Magnus glances down at Raj’s name circled in red ink on his discarded note page. “Yes, that’s the same conclusion I came to.” He crosses out Raj’s name with a thick, black _Sharpie_ , discreetly so Cat won’t notice, and highlights Alexander’s name. He draws a heart next to it — just for good measure. 

“I wonder what I did in a past life to end up with Maryse and Robert Lightwood’s progeny as my soulmate.”

“A past life?” Catarina teases.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“You never know,” she says, “he might surprise you.”

“I’m sure he’s just as insufferable as the rest, and the fates are just playing a cruel trick on me.” 

“That’s dramatic,” Cat notes. “How about we talk more over drinks?”

Magnus chuckles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Alec just wants a pumpkin spice latte & catches feelings along the way


	4. kiss me on the mouth (and set me free)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alec feels hollow. This is worse than not having a soulmate — knowing his fated lives and breathes and has a heart that beats in time with his but he can never have them._
> 
>  
> 
> _He was right. The Angel is punishing him, but it’s so much worse than he imagined._
> 
> * * *
> 
> Where Alec wants to get his runes under control but paying Magnus a visit feels like torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, gang! I'm back with another chapter. Sorry there was no update last week. I'm doing NaNo now, so hopefully that'll force me into our regularly scheduled programming for the last two chapters. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely betas [Meyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meyer), [CryptidBane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impetus/pseuds/CryptidBane), and [Cave_Bob_Sponge_Man](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_Bob_Sponge_Man)!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://hourglassmermaid.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/izzylightbane)!
> 
> Title comes from [BITE](https://open.spotify.com/track/72mvdKU4Lw2737idPLKTjh) by Troye Sivan~~
> 
> Also slight warning for some internalized homophobia & mention of Alec's canon feelings for Jace.

Alec can’t sleep. He hoped that after running across half the city, his bones would grow as heavy as his heart and sleep would come easy, but nothing ever goes how Alec wants. He tosses and turns all night, forcing himself not to think about Jace or his parents or the look on Magnus’ face when he reached out to Alec and Alec let him go — like a coward. Every time he feels himself slipping into unconsciousness, his stamina rune pulses, and it’s like he just drank 50 espresso shots simultaneously, and the torturous cycle repeats. 

When 5:00 AM rolls around, Alec’s alarm blares to awaken him from a sleep he never experienced. Alec whacks his fist down to silence it, already showered and dressed, before heading out the door. He’s about half a block away from _Starbucks_ when he realizes his glamour rune is active, so the barista won’t be able to see him. 

“Dammit,” he swears, and a jogger removes her headphones and looks around, startled.

He scrubs over his face with his palm and makes his way back to the Institute. Izzy’s going to be testy without her pumpkin spice latte, but there’s nothing Alec can do to quiet his runes. He’s tried every trick he knows with his stele already. 

Well, there is something Alec can do, but he’s not going there. 

He makes a pot of coffee in the Institute kitchen, even though he knows it won’t be as good as the Americano he was craving. He decides to try bribing Izzy with a cheese danish, but when he goes to grab the box from the top shelf, he overshoots and bumps his head on the ceiling, feeling a burst of energy at his agility rune.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, but the pain fades a moment later as his _iratze_ rune soothes the ache. Alec narrows his eyes. He’s getting tired of this.

As the day goes on, Alec grows more and more frustrated. He sweats bullets under the thick layers of clothing he wears to try and hide his golden runes, because apparently even the New York weather patterns are conspiring against him today. But he can’t shed a single layer, can’t risk someone seeing. They’ll know immediately, and Alec won’t survive the questions. He’ll drown. 

His eyes glaze over as he tries to concentrate on the page in front of him. He’s been reading and rereading the same paragraph for the last fifteen minutes and absorbing nothing. It might as well be a report on Jace streaking through the ops centre for all Alec knows. 

He sighs and pushes away from his desk. He can’t sleep. He can’t focus. He might as well train with all of this nervous energy. 

He changes into a pair of thick joggers and throws a bulky hoodie on over his layers, careful to keep his runes hidden beneath the fabric. He steps into the training room and hesitates in the doorway as he spots a familiar mop of golden hair on the sparring mat.

Jace lands blow after blow on the punching bag at the center of the room. He practices his left hook, even though his form has always been flawless. Normally, training with Jace is the best part of Alec’s day, but today he’d rather walk across a minefield than face him.

His eyes dart from Jace to the hallway and back to Jace. He hasn’t spotted Alec yet. Alec can still escape, try and avoid Jace for the rest of his life. It’s a solid option. Except it isn’t. Jace has to know something’s wrong. Their _parabatai_ rune has been fucked up for hours, and Jace may be dense sometimes, but he’s not oblivious. He knows.

Alec bites at his lower lip, sucks in a breath, and clings to his fleeting bravery as he steps into the center of the room. 

Jace jolts backwards when he finally spots Alec. “ _By the Angel_ , you scared me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Alec grips at the soundless rune on his wrist through the cotton fabric of his sweatshirt. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to.”

Jace studies Alec’s face, eyes tracing over him. Alec’s heart hammers in his chest as if he were on a hunt, and he might as well be, given the circumstances. Alec avoids his gaze, too overwhelmed at being caught in Jace’s scrutiny. 

After the longest beat in recorded history, Jace asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Alec lies, still not making eye contact. 

“Are you sure?” There’s a concerned — instead of accusatory — lilt to his voice, which is far better than Alec hoped for. “Things got… _weird_ last night.”

“You mean besides you almost breaking the Accords?” Alec tries for banter, for normalcy. The longer he can pretend the better. 

Jace rolls his eyes, and relief washes over Alec at being released from his gaze. “You ran out on us last night, and then we couldn’t track you. We were worried about you. Did you activate your deflect rune or something?”

Alec instinctively grabs at the prominent rune on his neck, the sleeve of his sweatshirt sliding down as he shifts. Jace spots the golden light pouring from his skin. He stumbles backwards, pointing at Alec with his mouth agape. As soon as Alec realizes his mistake, he slaps his wrist to close the pocket. He grips his wrist so hard it starts to ache. Doesn’t matter, though. His _iratze_ will kick in, in 3… 2… 1… and a second too early. 

He’s too late. Jace has already noticed, and he won’t let it go. 

“I want an answer, goddammit!” he says. “What the hell happened last night?”

Alec sighs. There’s no point in hiding anymore. He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hears Jace breathe.

Shimmering sunbeams stream from Alec’s runes, shooting out in all directions and colliding against the walls of the training room in a prism of light. 

“I met my fated last night,” Alec says as if that weren’t obvious. 

“I can see that,” Jace says. “Congrats, man. Who is sh— _are they_?” He’s quick to correct himself. 

Alec rolls down his sleeves, smoothing out the fabric, and plops down on the floor. He’s not sure he can manage to say the words standing. “Magnus Bane.”

“Holy shit.” Jace runs his fingers through his hair and joins Alec on the floor. “Are you kidding me?”

“Do you honestly think I’d joke about something like this?”

When Alec was younger, his mom used to tell him and his siblings bedtime stories about how someday they’d meet their fated, the person handpicked for them by Raziel himself to be their perfect companion. Alec used to dream about meeting them — that perfect complement, his other half. He yearned for that partnership crafted from fate, balance, and a hint of magic. 

All Alec’s ever wanted is for someone to love him as fiercely as he loves them.

As Alec grew older and started to have _feelings_ , he started to doubt he even had a soulmate. Why would the Angel find someone for him when what he wanted deep in his heart was wrong?

He had all but given up hoping for a future that was never his, but then a boy waltzed into his life and helped with his archery and taught Alec to believe in himself. For a brief flicker, Alec entertained the idea that Jace might be his someone, but that light went out before it could consume. 

Jace knows how important soulmates are to Alec. He’d never joke about this.

“I know,” Jace says. “But fuck, the High Warlock of Brooklyn? Nothing’s ever simple with you, man.” 

Alec grimaces. That’s an understatement. 

“What are you gonna do?” Jace asks, his voice softening to try and chisel away at Alec’s defenses. 

“What _can_ I do?”

Jace swallows hard, and Alec can hear his sharp intake of breath. “You know, you could go visit Magnus—”

Fiery anger twists in Alec’s gut like a vice grip. “How could you even suggest that? Do you have any idea what could happen to me if anyone found out? I could be deruned or—”

“So, what, you’re just gonna live like this forever? Hopped up on stamina and nourishment runes?” Jace gestures at Alec. “It’s almost 70 degrees out, and you look like you’re ready to go bobsledding.”

“It’s not my fault mundanes aren’t fixing global warming,” Alec grumbles. “And it’s not like I’m enjoying this. Every fucking second is like sensory overload, and I can’t make it stop.” 

Jace places a tentative hand on Alec’s shoulder, and Alec suppresses the urge to flinch away from his comfort. “But you can make it stop.”

“Are you not—” 

Jace holds up a hand to silence Alec’s protests. “Just hear me out. You don’t need to marry the guy. Just slip over to his place, give him a quick kiss, and you’re free.” Alec opens his mouth to speak, but Jace plows on. “Just because you’re soulmates doesn’t mean you’re obligated to be together.” 

Alec’s heard stories about people rejecting their soulmate. Finding them after all that searching only to turn them away like a spoiled child returning a Christmas gift. 

Alec feels hollow. This is worse than not having a soulmate — knowing his fated lives and breathes and has a heart that beats in time with his but he can never have them.

He was right. The Angel _is_ punishing him, but it’s so much worse than he imagined. 

“People fall in love with people other than their fated all the time,” Jace continues. “It can happen to you too. You don’t have to be with… _Magnus_.” 

Alec doesn’t like the way Jace’s voice twists when he says Magnus’ name, like it’s a dirty word. 

Alec chews on his lower lip, thinking, before he says, “I guess you’re right.” 

Jace squeezes Alec’s shoulder. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, but you’ll find someone else. I’m sure of it.”

Alec doesn’t want to admit it, but he won’t, because he’s already found him, and he’s about to walk away.

* * *

Alec paces back in forth in front of Magnus’ apartment building. He digs his nails into his palms, letting the subtle pain keep him from spinning completely out of control before his rune soothes the ache. He sighs as he glances at his watch, plopping down onto the cool pavement below. He’s been waiting for over an hour, and the only thing he’s relieved is the cramp in his leg. 

He gets up and buzzes Magnus’ apartment one last time before he decides that this was pointless and heads back to the Institute. Why he ever thought he could just show up at Magnus Bane’s doorstep unannounced is beyond him. He hears the screech of the ancient buzzer travel through the intercom system, but when he hasn’t been buzzed inside two minutes later, he finally accepts that Magnus isn’t home. 

He picks his phone out of his pocket and starts texting Jace to let him know that this plan was a failure when he hears a harmony of laughter crescendo down the street. A woman’s voice blends with a man’s voice that forces Alec’s heart into a sprint. It’s the voice that has been playing in his head on repeat. 

“I can’t believe you tipped the bartender $100 for two rounds of cocktails,” the female voice says, growing louder as they approach Magnus’ front steps.

Alec can see them now and panics. His eyes dart around his surroundings, seeking out hiding spaces, but then he remembers why he came and forces himself to project a courage he doesn’t feel an ounce of. 

Magnus escorts a woman Alec doesn’t recognize down the street. He pats her arm gently. “She was a student. How else will she pay her rent?” 

“You’re too much,” the woman says. 

“Too much is my middle name,” Magnus responds with a wink then stops short. “Alexander.” 

Alec can’t breathe. He doesn’t know how Magnus knows his name, but he doesn’t care. He just knows that he never wants to stop hearing Magnus say it. Which is exactly why he has to end this before he makes a decision he can’t take back. 

Alec swallows and tries to emulate all of the false confidence Jace is a master of parading around. “Magnus. Can we talk?” 

Magnus and the woman he’s with exchange a look, and it appears as though they have a silent conversation. She raises her eyebrows and Magnus pulls a face. Alec gets the impression they’ve been friends for a long time. 

“It’s getting late,” she says, “I better head home. Goodnight.”

Magnus says goodnight as she conjures a portal in the alley beside his building. The wind whips and cracks as it’s sucked into the swirling vortex until the portal closes with an abrupt snap, and Magnus and Alec are left in silence. 

Alec captures Magnus’ gaze and stares into his brown eyes, but they’re not the same eyes he met at Pandemonium. They’re flatter somehow. No warmth. No depth. Synthetic almost. And Alec’s hit with the realization that they must be contacts, because Magnus is going through the exact same thing he is. 

The thought comforts him. Magnus is probably just as eager to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all. 

Magnus ushers Alec inside his apartment. They climb up a few flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time before arriving in front of an ornate set of double doors. Magnus tries unlocking them with a spark of blue magic, but the blast deflects and shatters an ornate vase down the hall. Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose before fumbling around in his pockets for a key and opening the door the mundane way. 

He steps inside, keeping his back to Alec, and immediately sets off towards a drink cart on the other side of the room. The apartment is decorated as lavishly as Alec imagined based on the decor at Pandemonium, but it’s not overly flashy. It’s cozy. Homey. Alec shakes his head. Not his home, but somebody else’s. They really need to get this over with. 

“What’s your poison? Gin? Vodka? The blood of fallen demons?” Magnus calls from across the room. 

Alec laughs nervously and grips at the back of his neck. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” 

“Whiskey on the rocks it is.” Magnus gets to work pouring liquor and clinking glasses. “Make yourself at home.” 

Alec takes a seat on the edge of couch. He starts to tug his jacket off but thinks better of it, shrugging it back into place. He won’t be here long. 

Magnus hands a drink to Alec. Alec takes a sip and feels a shudder rip through his spine. He coughs as the burn of the alcohol courses through his sinuses. “This is stronger than the stuff they serve at the Institute Christmas party.”

Magnus nods. “That’s what happens when you drink straight liquor, darling.” 

Magnus takes a sip of his drink without flinching, but Alec notices now that he’s shaking and the memory of Magnus’ broken voice calling out to him flashes in his mind’s eye.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Magnus asks. 

Alec levels him with a look, and Magnus chuckles into his glass. “Fair enough.”

“I assume you’re having issues as well?”

“I almost charred a client this morning.”

“By accident?” Alec tries to be playful in his nervousness.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “By accident. I’d like to regain control of my magic before my practice’s reputation starts to suffer.”

“And I’d like to deactivate my runes before someone tells my mother, and she starts planning a wedding that won’t happen.” 

Alec winces, and he feels the room go both literally and figuratively colder. Magnus looks at him with a blank expression, considerably more steely than the easy banter they were falling into before Alec fucked it up, but it’s better this way. They can’t get attached. 

“Right,” Magnus says, “let’s get this over with.”

Alec wipes his clammy hands on his jeans and tries to steady the drumming of his heart before it bursts from his chest. He crosses over to Magnus and hesitates. Magnus raises an eyebrow in challenge, and Alec takes the bait.

"This doesn't mean anything," Alec says before grabbing a fistful of Magnus' shirt and crashing their lips together.

A symphony of sensation explodes when their lips meet. The soft, addicting heat lights each of Alec's nerve endings on fire, simultaneously extinguishing each of his overactive runes in the sweetest mixture of relief and desire he’s ever felt. 

Magnus’ lips are plush and warm and soft in all of the ways Alec imagined but also so much more. He melts into the kiss, losing himself in the feeling. Magnus tangles his fingers in Alec’s hair, urging them closer together and a shiver ripples down Alec’s spine. He parts his mouth, reveling in the wet, hot feeling of Magnus’ lips against his.

Magnus grazes his teeth against Alec’s lower lip, and Alec tries his best to suppress a groan from the back of his throat. Magnus’ body goes rigid, and he pushes Alec away suddenly.

Alec blinks back into reality and presses a finger to his lips when they part, the phantom touch of Magnus’ lips still igniting all of his senses. 

“Get out,” Magnus says.

Alec yanks his hand down to his side. “What?”

Magnus snaps his fingers, and this time, his front door swings wide open. “My magic’s back to normal, and your runes have quieted down. You got what you came for, so get out.” 

Alec nods before making his leave. He hovers in the doorway and takes a final glance at Magnus. He can’t suppress the feeling that he’s making a horrible mistake, but he still walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: mama bears & pining!
> 
> If you liked this chapter, I'm on [tumblr](http://hourglassmermaid.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/izzylightbane), but if you hated it, I have no social media =P

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Would love to hear your thoughts in the comments below! :)
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://hourglassmermaid.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/izzylightbane)!
> 
> Until next time, friends!


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